The Brown Study had many callers.  It was by now thoroughly used to them, for it had all sorts, every day of the month, at any hour of the day, at almost any hour of the night.

II

BROWN’S CALLER—­ONE OF MANY

A caller had just come stumbling in out of the November murk, half blind with weariness and unhappiness and general discouragement.  Brown had welcomed him heartily.

“It’s nothing in particular,” growled the other man, presently, “and it’s everything.  I’m down and out.”

“Lost your job?”

“No, but I’m going to lose it.”

“How do you know?”

“Every thing points that way.”

“What, for instance?”

“Oh—­I can’t tell you, so you’d understand.”

“Am I so thick-headed?” Brown asked the question seriously.  His eyes, keen, yet full of sympathetic interest, rested inquiringly upon his caller’s face.

“It’s in the air, that’s all I can say.  I wouldn’t be surprised to be fired any minute—­after eight years’ service.  And—­it’s got on my nerves so I can’t do decent work, even to keep up my own self-respect till I do go.  And what I’m to do afterward—­”

Brown was silent, looking into the fire.  His caller shifted in his chair; he had shifted already a dozen times since he sat down.  His nervous hands gripped the worn arms of the rocker restlessly, unclosing only to take fresh hold, until the knuckles shone white.

“There’s the wife,” said Brown presently.

The caller groaned aloud in his unhappiness.

“And the kiddies.”

“God!  Yes.”

“I meant to mention Him,” said Brown, in a quietly matter-of-fact way.  “I’m glad you thought of Him.  He’s in this situation, too.”

The caller’s brow grew black.  “That’s one thing I came to say to you:  I’m through with all that.  No use to give me any of it.  I don’t believe in it—­that’s all.”

Brown considered him, apparently not in the least shocked.  The caller’s clothes were very nearly shabby, certainly ill-kept.  His shoes had not been blackened that day.  He needed a hair-cut.  His sensitive, thin face was sallow, and there were dark circles under his moody eyes.

Brown got up and went out by a door which opened beside the chimney-piece into the room behind, which was his kitchen.  He stirred about there for some time, then he invited Jennings out.  There were crisply fried bacon and eggs, and toast and steaming coffee ready for the two men—­Brown’s cookery.

They sat down, and Brown bowed his head.

His companion did not bow his but he dropped his eyes, letting his glance rest upon the bacon.

“Lord” said Brown simply, “we ask Thy blessing on this food.  Give us food for our souls, as well.  We need it.  Amen.”

Then he looked up at the caller.  “Pitch in, Jennings,” said he, and set the example.